Once and Future
by his-little-troll
Summary: Arthur is surprised to find that he has more in common with his mother than blond hair and blue eyes and a kind temperament. When he receives a journal from Gaius, he may be surprised to find they may have similar tastes in servants.


**Once and Future**

_**Arthur is surprised to find that he has more in common with his mother than blond hair and blue eyes and a kind temperament. When he receives a journal from Gaius, he may be surprised to find they may have similar tastes in servants.**_

**Chapter One: Forgive**

_Alternate ending to Merlin 2x08._

_If Merlin can forgive, then so can Arthur._

Merlin wasn't sure when he decided it. He hadn't even realized he lifted his hand, his voice ringing out over his ears before he could stop it.

It wasn't until Arthur's sword swung back, suspended in midair, that he'd come back to himself enough to catch the glint of candlelight on steel. It wasn't until Uther's strangled and angry screams rung out across the nearly empty room that he even realized he'd made a mistake.

Perhaps more terrifying than Uther's orders echoing in his ears was the strange and hurt stare that Arthur shot at him.

"Arthur, listen to me. I can explain." His voice was quiet against the storm brewing around him, the sword still hanging precariously above their heads, his hand still held in front of him.

Blue eyes connected to his from across the room, already shining with the day's news. Merlin thought maybe this new shock had finally broken his prince.

"Merlin?" The question in Arthur's voice was as broken as his shaking hands, his trembling lips.

"Arthur, I was going to tell you but…" Merlin gestured helplessly to Uther, while the guards stared in surprise at the sword.

Apparently waving an arm at the King while displaying sorcery was not the wisest move. The guards were spurred out of their stupor and pounced on him his arms twisted behind his back, his face pushed down, his feet stumbling as their weight collided into him. He heard the distant clink of the sword falling on stone as he was led to the dungeons.

He prepared a speech over the next few hours, hovering between the certainty Arthur would come break him out and certainty that it would be Arthur's hand to light the pyre. He clung to a thread of hope that frayed in the passing hours, whispering spells against the dark and cold.

_What if magic isn't all evil? What if it's not as simple as he'd have us believe?_

He wasn't sure if he should thank Morgause, for finally allowing him to hear those words. He supposed there wasn't any reason not to. She couldn't have known that he was a sorcerer, or that he'd reveal himself like an idiot at the first opportunity. She'd probably just call him a moron. Or a coward. She'd demand him free himself, fight like she had fought. But what was freedom if he'd be hunted down like a criminal? What was freedom without the love of his friends or Gaius? If Arthur would be the one hunting him down like an animal?

The worst part was that he'd do it again in a heartbeat. He'd tried to reason with himself that he should have just stayed out of it.

If Uther had died, he had no doubt that Arthur would have repealed the ban on magic. Arthur was ready to be King, but not this way. Not with the guilt of his father's blood on his hands.

Merlin was destined to protect and serve the Once and Future King, but he could not help but protect and love Arthur the Prat. The clotpole. The Royal Ass.

He was just questioning the wisdom of his reluctance to escape and creating blue butterflies in the dark of the dungeon when he heard the familiar clinking footsteps descending the damp stairs.

Arthur hadn't removed his armor or his dirt covered tunic.

He looked as if he hadn't stopped running on the steam of his anger. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair stuck up at odd angles. He looked a decade older.

Merlin caught a flash of the future King staring at him, torn between duty and desire, tired and old and worn from battles Arthur hadn't even seen yet. The tender smile it prompted in him could probably be blamed for the sudden flash of pain across Arthur's pinched expression.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The voice that had hollered so many orders across crowded dining halls now cracked and splintered in the hollow spaces between them.

Merlin didn't mean to reach for his neck, but it was an action he'd taken often since his first day in Camelot. Arthur noticed and flinched, though he did not look away.

"Right. Of course." And with a heavy thud, Arthur sat on the other side of the bars, staring with equal intensity as Merlin gazed back. After a long moment, he let out a deep sigh and spoke again. "Why'd you stop me? It would have… It would have been everything you'd wanted."

Merlin almost defended himself on instinct. _Of course not Arthur. I'd never wish the King dead. That's treason._ But he remembered, in Gaius's room, the hurt and anger flashing like fire in his veins. He remembered his magic calling out for Uther's blood, for repayment for the freedom he'd never know, for the friends and loved ones he'd never meet. And he knew that the time for lies was over.

"What good would it be to free magic through the blood of another? Through your suffering?" Merlin chose his words carefully, staring at his hands as he formed another bit of magic. "What good would it be to see Uther die, if you had to die with him?"

He blew softly into his hands, watching the cold fire grow into the shape of a dragon and spread its wings. It took off silently, in glittering gold, until it brushed against Arthur's tunic, curling and fading until it disappeared into the crest of Camelot. "I am for the good of Camelot, not the end of Uther." He considered for a moment and then continued. "I am for the good of Arthur Pendragon."

He could only sit on his knees, Arthur watching him with an exhausted sort of wonder as he did his best to bow.

"You should not bow to me." The declaration was sharp, cutting through Merlin as his back straightened of its own accord at Arthur's tone. "I have just as much magic blood on my hands as my father."

The air grew heavy with the memory of the druids, running for their lives. The fear on Tom's face, guilty only of being weak at the promise of more gold and security than he had seen in all his years. The weakened boy sentenced to die. Gwen's cries and so many like hers, without the happy ending. Of the man who lost his life while Arthur and his knights played bullies in training.

Merlin could not reassure him of his innocence. Instead he strained against his chains to lean his head against the bars, his shoulders hunched with the effort of getting closer. "We have learned, Arthur, to be careful and to wait for better days. We have learned to have hope and to be ready to forgive. Most of us do not want revenge. We just want freedom."

"Then you are wiser than most." Arthur stood and crossed the small, straw littered floor to unlock the door. "And I will need that wisdom when I speak to my father about lifting the magic ban."

Merlin's heart thumped heavily in his chest as Arthur fumbled over the keys to his irons, before Arthur shot him an irritated look. "Couldn't you just magic the damned things off or something?"

It wasn't exactly the return to normal he'd hoped for, but it was something. "Well, you know, it's the principal of it really." He tried shooting Arthur a smile, only to find that Arthur's expression had gone blank as he stared off at a wall. "Alright, then." He imagined the locks bursting open and the restraints falling useless to the ground, and saw it happen.

He'd expected Arthur to immediately jump up and complain about the dirt of the dungeons or say something about Merlin's magic being creepy. Instead, still dressed in his knightly armor, the Prince of Camelot sunk back into the weeks-old hay and all that had soaked in it, and stared forlornly at the wall, unmoving.

He looked around before he knelt into a bow, knees squelching unpleasantly on whatever littered the damp ground.

"At the risk of my own life and an accusation of treason, I pledge my loyalty and servitude to you, Arthur Pendragon, and only you." He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting to hear an angry protest or a smug, but firm denial of his offer. Instead, he found none, and looked up to see Arthur's expression one of only confusion.

"Why would you—" Arthur began, but Merlin shook his head firmly.

"I am proud to serve you. I would be proud to serve you until the day I die." The words echoed from the past, and he watched their significance widen in Arthur's blue eyes. "You will be a great King. Your mother would be proud of the steps you've taken today."

"She'd be proud of me trying to kill my father?"

Merlin forced a smile, and patted Arthur's shoulder. "Well, maybe not that bit, but we all make mistakes." Looking around and noticing the distinct lack of guards or protection, Merlin cast Arthur a questioning glance. "Speaking of, how did you manage to get me out of my colossal screw up? I don't assume Uther just let you march down here and free me?"

Arthur's eyes turned cold, his shoulders squaring. "That's precisely what he did."

And with that, Arthur led him out of the dungeons and straight to the Prince's quarters, where all the guards missing from the dungeon appeared to have gathered. Merlin tried not to squirm as he passed them, recognizing two of them from the skirmish (if it could be called that) in the dining hall.

He was surprised to see Gaius standing calmly by the Prince's bed, hands held in front of him and a hesitant smile on his face.

"Gaius? Father hasn't sent you to try to persuade me, has he? I will not be moved on this matter." Arthur's voice did not leave room for argument.

"No, no. Actually, he hasn't got a clue I'm up here. I'm sure he will soon," he gestured out to the guards hovering around the door before continuing. "However, I came here shortly after the news of your recent discovery reached me. And after hearing what happened with Merlin, I'm glad I hurried."

Gaius peered around the room as if Uther was going to jump out from behind the curtain and shout "Gotcha!" When nothing of the sort happened, he pulled a thick, red-bound journal from his coat.

"Gaius, why've you got a book of medicine here?" Merlin looked between Gaius and Arthur, curiosity winning over his mind telling him to be quiet. "I've looked at that book a dozen times and all it's ever had in it was long and ridiculous sounding potions for things like menstrual cramps."

"You looked at a book about menstrual cramps a dozen times?" Arthur sounded almost like himself as he looked at Merlin incredulously. "What on earth for?"

Merlin felt his ears flush pink. "Well, there are a lot of women in the village and I do work with the court physician."

"That's not important right now," Gaius snapped. "This book is not a book of medicine. It merely disguises itself when opened by unwelcomed eyes." An old and weathered hand waved away the shock on Arthur's face. "It is from a time before the Great Purge. I had hoped you would have the opportunity to read it one day." He handed the book over to Arthur, a strange reverence in the way he handled the worn cover. Arthur raised his eyebrow at Merlin when Gaius's eyes began to water.

"Um, thank you, Gaius. I'll be sure to… treasure it?" Arthur looked ready to sway on his feet, but he offered his old friend a genuine, if confused, smile.

"It was your mother's, Arthur." He gave a pointed look to blond hair and blue eyes. "I've often told you that you take after her. Maybe with this journal, you can see just how much I meant it." Gaius gave Merlin a strange, knowing glance before he ran a quick, comforting hand over Arthur's arm and headed out the door.

"Gaius, wait." Arthur's grip had tightened on the book, but he didn't look at it or acknowledge it when he turned to face Gaius's tense back. "I am afraid that for your kindness, I will have to deprive you of your assistant. With my father's anger and bitterness, I fear Merlin would not be safe out of my sight. The King was less than enthusiastic about Merlin's interference. Even if magic did save his life, I'm afraid that he will attempt to…" Arthur faded off.

Evidently, he did not need to finish the thought as Gaius gave a quick nod and another soft smile before continuing to walk out the door and down the hallway.

"So, I'm not allowed to stay with Gaius?" Merlin looked around the very warm room, with its familiar rich hangings and fur blankets. "Am I to stay in the ante room?"

"No, I'm afraid that wouldn't be safe either. Even if it was locked, my father has keys to all the rooms. And he'd not hesitate to kill you while you slept, in the dark." This time it was Arthur who reached a quivering hand to brush against the neckerchief on Merlin's neck. "Probably with the excuse that you'd obviously cast a spell on me to make me hear my mother say those things."

Merlin flinched at the bit of hope in that statement. As if it would be better to have been a victim of magic and cruelty than to admit that his father had lied to him all his life.

Then again, Merlin could not say that he wouldn't feel the same. How many innocent lives had Arthur watched burned at the pyre under his father's rule? How many times had he assured himself that it was all for some vague greater good? How many times had he reassured himself with his father's words of magic's unforgivable evil? Now, instead of memories of reassurance and celebratory feasts, he had years of guilt crashing on his shoulders at once.

With a sigh, Merlin called Arthur's sleep shirt and pants to his palm, determination in his gaze as he turned to dress Arthur for bed. Only, Arthur's expression was unsettled as he watched the clothes fall limp in Merlin's hand.

"Oh, sorry. I figured, since you knew already… there'd be no use in hiding it now, you know? And honestly, I've just spent a good bit of the night thinking you were going to burn me alive, so I'm pretty wore out." He shrugged, looking down at his hands. It was probably not the best idea to flaunt his magic in front of Arthur during all this.

"I'm still wrapping my mind around the fact that you could do that all along, and you let me force you to shine my armor and muck out my stables." Arthur was eying him warily, as if Merlin might suddenly get angry about all the work he'd done and then magic him into a frog or something.

"Magic is just a different type of skill. Just something that I can use like you can use a horse, or a sword. I was happy to protect you. Always have been." Merlin grinned at him, tugging at the buckles of the armor.

"Always?" Arthur grinned at him, and Merlin laughed.

"Well, maybe not always. But most of the time."

They fell silent as Merlin finished removing the armor and chainmail, leaving it to polish and wash itself. Arthur had held out his arms expectantly, muscles and shoulders still tense, face still pinched in stress and exhaustion, when Merlin made up his mind.

"Would you like a bath? I mean, it's a bit more obvious magic, but I can get it going pretty quickly if you'd like?"

Arthur seemed to struggle for a moment before he sighed. "You don't have to serve me anymore. You know that, right Merlin?"

"I told you. I'm happy to be your servant." And just like that, Merlin set to work conjuring up a bath and hot water, eyes flashing gold until the tub was full and steaming. "Besides, you look like hell." And with that, he stepped behind the screen to change into his own night clothes, which had appeared sometime when Arthur wasn't looking.

It was hours after they'd argued about where Merlin was going to sleep and how much magic he would use while sleeping there that Arthur had listened to the sorcerer's snores and stared at the cover of the book.

It really didn't look special. In fact, when Gaius had handed it to him, he'd been quite sure that the old man had made a mistake and that the book was in fact a medicinal book on menstruation and womanly pains. There were smudges of dirt in the many creases across the front and the pages were uneven and uncut. The latch was broken, the binding cracked so that it nearly split into pieces. Yet when he ran his hand over the soft red leather, he felt a thrill of power against his fingertips.

It was a familiar sensation he had felt when he was deathly ill last winter after Gaius and two other physicians (brought at his father's request) had been unsure there was much hope of him making it. He recalled it during battles where he'd been losing, during fights against creatures he shouldn't have any chance against, against storms and accidents that were always nearly fatal. He wondered briefly if his mother had protected him somehow, until the snores beside him reminded him of the far likelier source of his good luck.

With a weary shake of his head, he pushed away the thought of the lies that had somehow piled up around him over the years from so many trusted mouths. He glanced back down at the book in his hand and frowned, flipping it open curiously.

In long, looping letters he saw his Mother's name.

For my Majesty Ygraine,

To house your most intimate thoughts, love.

Lady Vivienne.

Arthur frowned and tried to recall a Vivienne from among the Ladies at court. None came to mind, and he read the name again to make sure he hadn't misread the curling golden letters. There was really no mistaking the neat, if decorative, handwriting.

He frowned, turning past the blank page to find a different handwriting. It was small and a bit cramped and more candid than the well-practiced artistry of the previous writer. His heart sped as he pored over the first few sentences, confirming his suspicions.

His mother had kept a secret journal. He'd never thank Gaius enough for this, but as long as the old man lived he'd never want for anything.

Summer

Vivienne has given me this with the assurance that it will be a safe outlet for my anxieties. I am not as sure as she is in her abilities, but I've little reason to disbelieve her. Besides, she says she will know if I don't use it. I'm starting to believe she knows everything, although I can't be certain that that's not my husband speaking his paranoia in my ear. Vivienne would throw a fit if she knew I was considering anything Uther told me about magic.

She's far more stubborn than she ought to be. I don't think I've ever had a servant as unwieldy as she is. If I didn't admire her so much for it, she'd probably be hanged by now.

Sometimes, I am sure she is lucky to have me as a Mistress, only to be reminded abruptly that such thoughts are proud and foolish. I have never been more fortunate than to have caught her before she ended up in the hands of a woman who would care for her less.

Take, for instance, this journal.

I had been complaining to Vivienne recently of His Majesty's wandering eyes when she offered me a sly smile and procured from… well, to be honest, journal, I'm not sure where she got you, but there she was, holding it out to me like a secret gift between just the two of us. I tried to refuse it. The girl barely affords to keep her clothes decent. I can't imagine how she afforded such a finely bound journal, nor the charm to make it so inconspicuous but here it is. I'm not sure where any of her coin goes, actually.

I fear what I see in her sometimes. I fear that I see warmth in her smile when she pulls my dresses on in the morning and fear in her eyes when Uther's ever roaming eyes reach her standing behind me. I fear that I see her eyes flash gold when there is no light and that I see her hands twitch under the table when the children are about to break the silverware. I fear that I hear her murmuring under her breath when there is no one to talk to.

Uther does not allow sorcerers or sorceresses in the royal house servants. Vivienne, if you are reading these messages, I hope you heed my warning and remain more careful.

I would hate to lose my treasured maid.

Ygraine Pendragon.

Arthur closed the book. The thunk echoed in the quiet of his room, muffled only by the continued snores of his manservant. He let out a sigh of relief as Merlin showed no signs of stirring, all long limbs and odd angles securely wrapped in wool blankets, mouth open and drooling onto the makeshift mattress they'd made hours ago. Arthur took the relative solitude to reflect on the bits of his mother that spoke to him through the pages.

So Uther had been persecuting magic users before his mother's death? He wasn't sure if that should relieve him or infuriate him more.

Why were the people who used magic not good enough to serve the King and Queen, until Uther decided he needed an heir? The question twisted in his gut and shot a nauseous wave through him.

Who was Vivienne and why was his mother receiving gifts from her in secret? Had they been close?

It was no surprise he had never heard of the woman. He'd not even thought about the fact that his mother would have had friends and secrets. It had never occurred to him to question whether Uther's supposed love for Ygraine had been one sided, or if it had been as faithful as everyone seemed to tell him.

From the sounds of it, it had hardly been monogamous on his father's side of things.

Something about the way his mother had spoken so affectionately about Vivienne made him look over to Merlin, whose nose was crushed against thin sheets. He could at least relate to his mother on that point. Sometimes useless servants were the best ones to keep around. Even useless servants who ended up being sorcerers who'd lied to him for years.

That thought sat like a weight on his stomach, and he pushed it away again to glance back over the dark, cramped writing.

_Vivienne, if you're receiving these messages, I hope you heed my warning and remain more careful._

If his mother had been here now, he wondered if she'd approve of his open disobedience of his father. He wondered if she'd find him a coward for taking so long to stand for what was right. He wondered if she'd find him selfish for only standing up for magic when it was Merlin at stake. He wondered if, instead, she'd understand.

It was a bitterness that drove him to close the book and bend into his covers, snuffing out the candle beside him.

He'd never know what his mother's reaction would be, because his father had so desperately needed a son that he'd decided he no longer needed a wife.

Arthur dreamed of fire and screams and blue eyes flashing gold as dragons flew in glittering gold across empty fields.


End file.
